


I Swallow Your Heart

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sam Wears Panties, Sam pines for Dean, Teasing, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Prompt: "I swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth" by Richard Siken.Sam has never been able to hold onto Dean the way he wants to. He tries. It's never enough.(Sam is a kid when this starts, but is sixteen before anything sexual happens between them.)





	I Swallow Your Heart

Dean loses his virginity when Sam is eleven years old. Sam knows that to be true, because Dean told him. Dean tells him everything, always has, and Sam has never minded before. It always made him feel older, made him feel special to have secrets that other kids his age hadn’t discovered yet. And it always made him feel close to Dean.

But tonight’s different. 

Tonight, when Dean tells him exactly what what’s-her-name let him do to her, Sam curls up on his motel bed alone and stares at the wall. Suddenly, he wishes Dad were here to pack them up, wishes that they were leaving for some other town, where they would have to stick together as they figured things out all over again. 

He’s never felt different from Dean before. Never felt separate from him. 

That’s the beginning of the end for Sam.

Once Dean starts having sex, he doesn’t stop. Over the next two years, Sam hears more and more stories that he doesn’t want to. He blames his feelings on growing up. Things are changing, Dean isn’t around as much and doesn’t have the same kind of time for Sam that he used to. Then he blames it on John. It’s John’s fault they haven’t grown up normal, that he doesn’t know how to be his own person without Dean. Dean is all he’s ever known. 

But when he’s thirteen, sitting down in the shower and crying because Dean came home with lipstick on the fly of his blue jeans, he admits it. 

He’s angry because Dean doesn’t want to do any of those things with him. 

He’s in love with his big brother.

It takes another year for Sam to quit hating himself for that. Or at least, another year until he doesn’t care if he hates himself. Hating himself doesn’t make it go away, doesn’t make him need Dean any less. 

Sam starts planning then. Scheming. He watches Dean flirt with the cashier at the gas station. Dean can’t stop staring at her lips, perfectly painted and pursed like she wants him to know what they can do, what they will do if he lets her. 

The next day, Sam borrows lip gloss from Sarah, the girl who sits next to him in science class and never judges him for having a boy’s name doodled all over his notebook. She might if she knew those hearts were for his own brother. But she doesn’t know that, so she hands over the pink, shimmery goo and tells Sam not to eat or drink while he’s wearing it, because it’s sticky when it smears. 

Sam puts it on in the bathroom of the tiny long-term motel they’re at this month, then waits for Dean, impatient and nervous. Will he like it? Will he notice at all? Sam hadn’t actually put that much on. Just enough to make his lips shine a little more than usual. Will Dean think he’s gross or something?

The door opens just as Sam is about to chicken out and wipe it off, and he has no choice but to wait it out and see what happens. It takes a few minutes of Dean rattling on about some guy he met outside a liquor store who bought him a bottle of whiskey before he really looks at Sam’s face. 

Sam knows he sees the lip gloss. Dean’s eyes narrow and he looks a little confused, and then he goes on with the conversation like nothing is different.  
Sam’s stomach sinks. Dean doesn’t care. It isn’t enough. Sam isn’t enough. 

A few months later, Sam tries again. This time, he pulls on a pair of old jeans, jeans that are a little too snug now over his growing legs and ass. They show off muscles that are just starting to develop, and Sam knows he looks like a tease, especially since he’s lounging around without a shirt on. 

Dean gives him one long look when he sprawls out on the floor in front of the tv, in front of Dean, but again, he says nothing. 

Still not enough.

Sam’s too deep in it now to stop. 

Sam’s fourteen and growing his hair out over the summer, letting the sun brown his skin until he’s as pretty as any girl on the beach. 

Sam’s fifteen and shaving his legs, wanting to be as soft and smooth as possible when he walks around in front of Dean in his boxer shorts. 

Sam’s sixteen and wearing panties, letting the lacy hem of them stick out over his low-rising jeans. 

And Dean still says nothing. 

Sam knows Dean thinks he’s gay, that he’s experimenting or something. And he’s not entirely wrong. But it isn’t boys that Sam wants. Just Dean. 

And Dean doesn’t get it. No matter how far Sam goes, how much of a slut he is for his big brother, Dean never mentions it. He doesn’t even bother to reject Sam, to tell him how disgusting and fucked up he is. 

Maybe that’s why Sam keeps going. He hasn’t hit rock bottom yet, and he needs Dean to push him there before he can stop. 

Dean does, however, keep having sex. The harder Sam tries, the more Dean goes out. Sam tries something new to entice him, only to have Dean leave for a couple of days and come back stinking like pussy with nail marks all down his back. It happens over and over, pushes Sam lower and lower until he almost just comes right out and asks for it. 

But he just can’t bring himself to say the words. 

Instead, one night when he’s been left all alone, while Dean is out being with everyone but him, he fantasizes. 

He figures he’s got at least until the morning before Dean gets back, and it’s not even midnight, so he doesn’t bother to hide in the shower or anything. He just stretches out on the bed, totally naked, and takes his time. 

The door opens just as he’s gotten himself slicked up with the lube he keeps in a hidden pocket of his bag, just as he’s tugging at his balls with the hand that isn’t stroking his dick. He’s so surprised to see Dean standing there that he doesn’t pull his hands away, doesn’t jump up and cover himself. He just freezes.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean cries, the tone of his voice suggesting that he’s mortified, but those green eyes…oh God, those green eyes stay right on Sam. 

For just a moment, neither of them breathe, too surprised or scared or horrified to speak. Sam can feel his blood pumping, can hear the roar of it in his ears as he waits for Dean to decide his fate.

This is it. 

Dean finally moves, but he doesn’t leave or go to the bathroom or throw some clothes at Sam. 

He sits down in a fucking chair and nods. It’s a silent “go on” and Sam’s freefalling, has never felt more alive than he does right fucking now. 

Sam’s hands start moving again, faster with Dean’s eyes on him, squeezing harder with each stroke. He manages not to cry out, but his breath comes hard and heavy, a low moan escaping him when he feels the first shudders. 

Is he supposed to come?

Dean is still watching, eyes trailing up and down over Sam’s entire body, and it doesn’t matter if Sam’s supposed to come, because he can’t stop it now, can’t stop the shaking and shuddering of his body. 

Maybe he groans as he makes a mess of his lower stomach, and maybe it sounds a little like Dean’s name, but he manages to hold most of the sound in, manages not to let loose a lifetime’s worth of dirty words that he’s been holding back. 

When it’s over, he feels wrung out, limp and sweaty and unsure of how he’s supposed to feel now. 

Dean stands up and walks out.

The door shutting softly behind him sounds like a gunshot. One that missed its target. Because no matter how hard Sam tries, he can’t get his prey. 

He just can’t hold on to Dean.

They don’t talk about what happened. Dean comes back the next morning, and they act like nothing is at all out of the ordinary. Sam guesses that’s better than the alternative of Dean refusing to speak to or look at him ever again, so he goes with it. 

It only takes him another month to go after Dean again, because he’s so fucking gone he doesn’t give a shit anymore.

This time, he plans it. 

He puts on one of Dean’s old t-shirts, one that is too small for either of them now. Sam doesn’t even know why they still have it, except that it just got lost at the bottom of a duffel bag and no one bothered to throw it out. The name of the band stretches tight over Sam’s chest, a flat strip of tan stomach showing beneath it. His jeans are open, showing that he’s wearing panties again, black and lacy, just like he knows Dean likes because he’s heard him talk a million times about girls who wear exactly these. 

And he waits. 

When Dean comes home, Sam still can’t bring himself to say anything, but he stands up and offers Dean a beer from the room’s tiny fridge.

The air catches fire between them. Sam isn’t sure if it’s a good fire or not, but he can feel it in his veins, blazing away any hope of getting out of this without at least a conversation. He takes a deep breath and hopes for the best.

Dean doesn’t reach out for the beer. He’s too busy staring at Sam, taking in every detail of what Sam’s blatantly offering him now. 

“Fuck.”

Finally. It may not be the reaction Sam wanted, but at least Dean is acknowledging him. That’s something. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” he says again, and this time he steps back, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“What, Dean?” Sam presses. “What is it?”

In an instant, Sam’s world turns upside down. He can’t breathe, because Dean’s too close, pressing him into the wall and crowding into him until there’s no air, only Dean’s exhalations, only the scent of Dean’s sweat, only the sound of the beer bottle thunking onto the dirty carpet. Sam decides right then he doesn’t need air, anyway. 

“You know exactly what it is,” Dean growls, so close Sam can taste his breath. “Been doing it for years. Running around with shaved legs and panties, letting me see everything, teasing the fuck outta me.”

Sam’s fingers are digging into Dean’s arms now as Dean cages him in, smashes their foreheads together.

“How the fuck do you expect me to stay away from you?”

Sam feels small, like Dean’s baby brother again, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him harder. “Don’t want you to stay away from me,” he says, dangerously close to a pout.

“Can’t.” Dean’s nosing in the hair behind Sam’s ear now, his hands dragging over the bare skin of Sam’s waist under the too-small t-shirt. “Tried. I fucked every girl who would have me trying to forget about you.”

The jealousy Sam is expecting to feel never comes. He pictures Dean with all those girls, eating their cunts, grabbing their thighs as they ride him, and all he feels is a new pulse of heat that Dean was thinking about him when he closed his eyes. “And?” he asks, needing to hear more. 

“And it didn’t work.”

“Dean?” Sam breathes, pushing his whole body into the only other person he’s ever wanted to touch. 

Dean understands, swallows hard and nods, just once, but it’s good enough for Sam.

The carpet burns through a hole in Sam’s jeans when he falls to his knees, sliding down the wall and shoving Dean back enough to get at his fly, jerk his pants down to his knees. 

Sam’s seen Dean naked before, but never like this, never hot and flushed and hard for Sam. He licks his lips and leans forward, remembering every time Dean has ever described this, everything Dean’s ever told Sam he likes. 

Sam’s determined to be better than any girl that’s ever been here before. He’ll erase each one of them with his own lips and tongue, make sure that Dean tells people he lost it to his little brother, because he can’t remember anyone else. 

Dean’s skin is hot, burning into Sam’s mouth as he kisses carefully, reverently, down the full, rigid length of Dean’s cock. Dean bites his lip and makes a strangled sound, hand falling to Sam’s hair to keep his head right where it is. 

Maybe Sam’s a little too eager. Maybe his hand strokes too hard and he accidentally bumps Dean with his teeth once. But Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He’s groaning and taking these deep, shuddering breaths that Sam’s never heard before. This isn’t cool, badass Dean who’s so cocky and confident, grinning down at some pretty girl as he encourages her. Dean’s falling apart over Sam, one hand on the wall to hold himself up, eyes dark and wide as he watches, whole body flexing over and over like he’s trying to stop himself from shaking. 

_Yes_ , Sam thinks. _This_.

Eventually, Sam finds himself on the bed. He’s not sure if he walked there or Dean tossed him, everything is going fluid and fuzzy in his brain, but Dean’s still with him, pulling his jeans off and sliding his hands up Sam’s legs to the black panties he’s wearing. 

“You been wearin’ these for me? This whole time?”

Sam nods, opening up, blooming under Dean’s gaze. “All of it was for you.”

“Since when? When did you…”

“Since forever,” Sam says seriously, no shame or shyness. 

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, fingers playing at the edges of the panties, tracing over the line of Sam’s cock through the lace. 

But while his fingers explore, his eyes stay on Sam’s, seeing so much more than the lip gloss and the shaved legs and the panties and the tight clothes. 

He’s seeing Sam. 

His Sammy.

His grip tightens as he pushes himself up the bed and kisses Sam for the first time, lips touching in a ritual so sacred it makes Sam heart stop for a few seconds. 

And in that moment, Sam knows. He’s got Dean. He has his heart. And it won’t get away again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is my lifeblood. XOXO


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